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Cora’s heartwas in her throat by the time she made it to the bottom of the tower stairwell where Master Arther awaited. After Berol’s strange behavior and the letter she’d delivered, Cora couldn’t help but think the worst. Something must have happened to Teryn. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning. Had he returned home without saying goodbye? Had he been hurt or injured on his way? Even so, how had Berol had enough time to make it to Dermaine Palace and back? She supposed falcons were fast, but still…
“What happened?” she asked Master Arther, her voice both sharp and trembling.
The old steward wrung his gloved hands. “It’s best you hear it from the council—”
“No, I will not take a single step farther until you tell me what happened.”
Arther glanced around, but the hall was empty. Thankfully, the wing beneath the North Tower Library was rarely frequented by anyone but the guards. He released a sigh, and Cora braced herself for the worst.
Please don’t say Teryn is…that he’s…
“It’s about His Majesty the King.”
Her mind went blank. “What? Not Prince Teryn?”
Master Arther grimaced. “Well, it’s about him too, Highness.”
Her pulse hammered, setting her mind back to racing. “Please just tell me at once.”
“You really should speak with the king’s councilmen—”
“They are not your monarchs,” she said, voice rising to a shout. “Tell me or I’ll find someone else who will. And another steward while I’m at it.”
She was too anxious to feel guilty for her sharp words. While she’d never made such an imperious threat, she was going out of her mind. Her mental shields were already beginning to fray, inviting in Arther’s apprehension, and the curiosity of the stairwell guard behind them.
“Very well,” he mumbled, folding his hands behind his back. “Highness, His Majesty attacked Prince Teryn. He drew a dagger on the prince inside the Godskeep during one of his…” The steward cleared his throat. “Moments.”
Cora pulled her head back, unable to believe his words. “What? How could that…how would he…”
“Lord Kevan will tell you the details. The council has assembled and awaits your presence.”
“Where is my brother?”
“He’s in his room under guard—”
That was all she needed to hear before she darted from the steward and hurried through the halls toward the keep. The rush of her blood pounded through her ears. She paid no heed to Master Arther’s pleading calls behind her, nor the sound of his feet as he shadowed her up the keep steps. She didn’t slow, didn’t stop, until she reached her brother’s closed doors. Two guards stood outside them, men she recognized as members of Dimetreus’ personal guard.
“Open the doors,” she said, tone filled with cold authority.
“The king is at rest, Highness,” one of the guards said, tone dry.
“Open the doors now.”
They held their positions. Master Arther caught up with her, cheeks flushed pink, gray hair in disarray. “Highness, please—”
The doors began to open, drawing Cora’s attention back to them. But she didn’t have the guards to thank; they were opening from the other side. She nearly crumpled with relief at seeing her brother’s face. His expression was wan, skin pale, reminding her too much of how he’d looked when he’d been under Morkai’s control.
“Aveline,” he said, eyes turning down at the corners. “You must have heard.”
Cora glanced from her brother to the guards. The latter made no move to usher the king back inside his room or close the doors, which suggested he wasn’t being held prisoner. Then again, he didn’t invite her inside or cross the threshold into the hall.
She lowered her voice. “Can we speak in private?”
He gave her a solemn smile. “It’s better if we speak here.”
Her shoulders tensed. “What happened, Dimi?”
“What have you been told?”
